Luminous
by Danneyland
Summary: WBWL: Harry is not the Boy-Who-Lived; his egotistical, pain-in-the-arse, arrogant twin brother is. During the summer before third year, Harry storms from the Dursleys', intent on never setting foot there again. And, one day, he would extract his revenge from those who plagued his not-so-innocent childhood ... Dark!Harry Smart!Harry (5000-word Chapters) (on Hiatus, sadly)
1. Rising Tension

_**Story Summary: **_WBWL: Harry is not the Boy-Who-Lived; his egotistical, pain-in-the-arse, arrogant twin brother is. During the summer before third year, Harry storms from the Dursleys', intent on never setting foot there again. And, one day, he would extract his revenge from those who plagued his not-so-innocent childhood ... Dark!Harry Smart!Harry (5000-word Chapters) (on Hiatus, sadly)

_**Author's Note:**_ Welcome. Let's get on with the show!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any canon characters, places, themes, or other related indicia. All rights go to the author, J K Rowling, and her respective publishers and copyright owners. Any ideas that I have are strictly from my own imagination, and any similarities are completely coincidental.

Note: I've realized that I should include a **WARNING** for *possible* mentions/scenes of torture/non-con/heavy violence/grotesque imagery, et cetera. I don't know about you people, but when an author says "head's up, this chapter includes torture," or "trigger warning: obscure mention of rape," it kinda spoils it for me. You've just told me that it's coming, so it's not as exciting when I read it. If some people want me to specifically PM them in the case of these types of scenes I'd be more than happy to (just tell me so in your review), but for the most part I want to keep that out of my Author Notes after this.

_Originally posted October 13, 2014_

* * *

Chapter 1 – Rising Tension

Harry could hear his bedside clock tick just as he scratched the last word of his sentence onto his History paper. He rubbed his eyes. Usually, he would stay up a little later, as it was surely almost midnight, but he was really tired tonight. Yesterday, he had spent the entire day gardening, and would be bending over on his knees with his hands in the dirt again in the morning, too.

He decided that he would give it up for the night – there was still a long time to go until term started. He put his eagle-feather quill back in the old pillowcase he used to hide things, following the flashlight and ink bottle that had also been in use. He quietly (for he wasn't going to wake the Dursleys up if he could help it) pried the one loose floorboard open and stuck the pillowcase with his things in the little space that was made available to him. Tucking his essay into the book to mark his page, he also stacked his textbook, _A History of Magic_, in his little closet in the corner of the room next to the door.

Turning around to head back to his bed, he noted the time that read on the clock. It was one in the morning. His stomach gave a funny jolt; he'd been thirteen for an hour and hadn't even realized it. Not that anyone else in the house would care, or even _mention_ it – but, to Harry, it meant that he was another year closer to finishing school and seeking employment. Something he was both excited and apprehensive about.

Harry went to the window – the cool air on his face was nice after hiding with his flashlight under the blankets for so long. He could even see his reflection. Staring back at him was a boy with stubbornly untidy jet-black hair; bright eyes behind black, circular glasses; and smooth features that were becoming slightly more angled with age. The body of the boy was insanely lean – there was so little fat, that one might say he had never eaten junk food in his life. But there was a slight dusting of muscle already rearing its head, something that would one day be the source of jealousy in later years as the muscle developed further. The eyes, though, were a phenomenon. They had once burned bright green but had morphed into a soft grass colour, starting early in his childhood as a near-neon shade of frog to very recently having a much-dulled shade of watermelon.

Looking out the window, Harry searched for a sign of Hedwig, his pet owl. It took him a moment to recognise what he was seeing, but a lop-sided something was flying his way. He quickly realised what it was and threw open the window as far as it could go. The three owls flew through the window and landed on Harry's bed with a _flump_. The middle owl looked sickly, and it lay still as Harry removed the package tied to its feet. It was a package from the Weasley family. That owl was Errol, and Harry put him in Hedwig's cage. The owl gave a feeble hoot of thanks before gulping some water. Setting the package aside, he moved on to his own owl, a large snowy female. She looked exceptionally pleased with herself and allowed Harry to remove her parcel before giving an affectionate nip on his finger and joining Errol. This one was from Hagrid, he was sure. He, too, set this one aside so that he could relieve what he assumed was a Hogwarts owl of the letters it was carrying. After the strings holding the mail were off, it ruffled its feathers importantly and jumped up onto the windowsill and flew away. There were two letters – one for Harry, and one for his brother, Christopher. Christopher was Harry's twin brother, who was currently asleep on the bed next to Harry's. He had always been in this room for as long as they could remember – Harry had been in the cupboard under the stairs. For everything that had gone wrong, every bit of accidental magic, Harry had always been the scapegoat, with Christopher always getting off free. So, Harry had to stay in the cupboard for his "misbehaviour" while Christopher got to stay in the second room upstairs. When their Hogwarts letters first arrived, the Dursleys got nervous about the possibility of people watching the house and moved Harry into the room with Christopher, much to the spoiled boy's displeasure. He had thrown a tantrum to rival Dudley, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren't about to be convinced otherwise.

Harry slit open the envelope. Noticing it was a bit thicker than usual, Harry read the first piece of parchment in his letter:

_Dear Mr. H Potter,_

_Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock. Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade at certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission slip to your parent or guardian to sign._

_A list of books for next year is enclosed._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

There was a permission slip? That was going to be a problem. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might sign the innocent piece of paper without batting an eyelid for Christopher, but they certainly weren't going to sign his without putting up a fight. Unless he switched papers with Christopher so that they "accidentally" signed his instead, and Christopher wouldn't be allowed to visit the all-wizard village? But that was a very backhanded, unethical way of doing things, tempting as it was. No … things would have to be done the hard way. He just wondered what would make the Dursleys see sense.

Ignoring the equipment lists and train ticket that were also in the envelope, Harry decided that opening whatever had come from Hagrid would surely cheer him up a little. He picked up the package; it was larger than whatever had been sent from the Weasleys to Christopher. With a slightly smug expression at the thought, he removed the letter from the strings of the parcel and opened it. There were notes for himself and his brother, separately, inside. He threw his brother's letter on top of the parcel from the Weasleys. His letter read:

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you._

_How are you doing, Harry? Hope the muggles are treating you right._

_All the best,_

_Hagrid_

He might find whatever Hagrid gave him useful? That didn't exactly calm his nerves; Hagrid tended to have a rather skewed sense of what was dangerous and such. Warning bells were ringing in Harry's head. Was it some sort of book that might give him some nasty spells that he could use? Or was it something simpler, like a broomstick servicing kit? Or even a potion ingredient kit that had a wide stock of oils and essences and smelly animal parts that Hagrid had collected himself, but would most likely only burn his fingers?

Suddenly very cautious and suspicious of whatever might be inside; Harry gently cut open the brown paper covering with a pocket knife. He hadn't gotten very far when the package gave a shudder and a growl and fell from his hands onto the bed because of his surprise. Seeing that it couldn't move (yet), he picked it up and examined the hole he had managed to cut. There was something flat and furry inside. Removing more paper, he could see the title on the book in gold writing, _The Monster Book of Monsters_, before it jumped out of the parcel and onto his sheets, where it scuttled under the bed and hid. But that wasn't his only problem; the first book, having been removed from the paper packaging, revealed another book of the same caliber that tried to bite his hand off before scuttling in the opposite direction of the other book underneath Christopher's dresser.

Harry leaped out of bed as quietly as he could, for it was still quite late, and used a closed fist, with the fingers wrapped around the thumb to protect it, to lure the book out from under his bed first. It snapped, its rough edge barely grazing his knuckle – leaving a scratch or two that drew no blood. Harry, on instinct, took his chance and threw his elbow upon the book, keeping it still with his weight. It tried to free itself, but Harry, without even thinking, ran a finger down the spine. The book settled and Harry removed his elbow from it. Picking it up, he took a longer look at the cover (for he had only seen a glance before), flipped through a few pages, and put it at the bottom of his textbook pile so that it could not get away.

Focusing on the other book, Christopher's, he used the same trick as he had before, this time receiving no scratches whatsoever and calmed his book also. Christopher would injure himself, he was sure, so he used the cords from Hagrid's parcel and bound the book. He also tucked Christopher's letter under the strings like it had been before and set it underneath the Weasley package. He couldn't wait to hear his brother's girly scream when he found it.

Making sure that he had left no mess anywhere (for his brother would most certainly complain and Harry would have to do all the laundry as punishment), Harry reached up and crossed off another day on the little planner he had made for himself that counted the days left until Hogwarts. Crawling into bed, he pried his glasses from his face and lay on his side, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Harry woke to the sound of his brother's annoyingly loud, stretched-out yawn. Making no comment, Harry rolled out of bed, jammed his glasses onto his face and grabbed new clothes for the day. He barely spared a glance at Christopher when the irritation himself exclaimed noisily with gasps and soft curses at whatever had been from Ronald Weasley. Harry also had to hide a grin at the highly anticipated scream from his brother when the boy found his copy of _The Monster Book of_ _Monsters_ … Really, how Christopher had been sorted into Gryffindor, he did not know.

Remembering his own sorting when he had been eleven, nervous and slightly jealous of the attention that his brother was getting, Harry pulled on his trousers and made his way down to break his fast.

_(Flashback – Harry's Sorting, 2 years prior)_

_"Potter, Christopher!"_

_Harry watched as nearly everybody in the Great Hall struggled to get a glimpse of The-Boy-Who-Lived before the hat fell over the taller, black-haired and green-eyed twin. The hat took a minute to ponder, before announcing "Gryffindor!" at which the students with red crests and ties stood; cheering louder than any of the previous students had been cheered for. Christopher, with another of his stupid grins, strode triumphantly to the table and sat down next to the other first years._

_"Potter, Harry!"_

_Making a point to show no signs of nervousness, Harry made a careful, determined walk and sat on the three-legged stool, whereupon McGonagall placed the hat on his shaggy-haired head._

_"Well, Mr. Potter, this is a very fine mind that you have," the hat spoke into his ear. "Thus, it would ever be a shame if you were put in the wrong house … smart, but not grasping for detailed information … cunning, but not quite the stock of ambition Slytherin usually sees … hardworking, but definitely not loyal … brave, but you've never acted with much nerve … Yes, Mr. Potter, this is difficult … difficult. If I were to go with my metaphorical gut, however … I would put you in GRYFFINDOR!"_

_The last word echoed across the vast Hall, and the hat was removed from his head. He stood up, plastered a polite smile on his face (to mask his uncertain feelings towards being with his brother), and sat as far away from his brother as would still be considered well-mannered._

_(End Flashback)_

Harry walked down to the kitchen, slightly surprised to find the three Dursleys already there (although his brother was still nowhere to be seen). Taking a piece of toast and spreading some strawberry jam onto it, he shifted his attention to the television screen that had been a gift for his cousin, who had continually complained about the walk between the kitchen and the living room television until a new one had been implemented for his birthday. The news reporter was in the middle of a warning about some escaped convict.

"… the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

Uncle Vernon snorted at the state of the prisoner, staring over the top of his mug at the elusive convict. He shot a nasty sideways glance at Harry, commenting on the filthy hair of the escapee before filling his mouth with even more food.

It was then that Christopher made his appearance. As soon as Aunt Petunia saw him, she gave a great big exclamation of "Happy Birthday, Christie!" before engulfing him in a hug. She brought out presents from their hiding spot under the kitchen sink, loading up his arms before he could even touch his food. He said thanks through a very cheesy grin indeed and shoved a muffin into his mouth before ripping off the paper from his first present.

It was mostly candies and things. There were a couple new video game discs for the console that he and Dudley shared, and a gift card for the electronics store. There was also a surprise – tickets for a muggle concert a couple weeks before term started. Of course, those tickets were for Dudley and Christopher only, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would find such an event too loud, and it would be "too expensive" or some other such nonsense to buy Harry one.

When the last card was unwrapped (containing a 20-pound note that was quickly pocketed), Uncle Vernon glanced at his wristwatch before saying, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

Harry, startled, blurted, "_Aunt Marge_ is coming? Coming _here_?" before he had a chance to think about it.

"Don't you remember? She _said_ she was coming for my birthday," Christopher sneered. "Or are you too busy hiding up in our room, reading your books?"

Aunt Marge was Vernon's sister. She was not a blood relative of Harry's, but he had still been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. She was a rather large, beefy and fat woman like her brother. She lived in the country breeding her bulldogs. She didn't come to stay often, as she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs behind, but each of her visits had never been fun for Harry. The last time she had come, Harry had been carrying the dirty dishes after supper and hadn't seen the dog, hidden, under the repulsive woman's mass. He'd accidentally stepped on the toes of Ripper, Marge's favourite dog, and hastily put the dishes on the counter before running from the angered rabid animal. He knew he couldn't escape it for much longer, as four-legged creatures were faster than two-legged ones (which had better endurance). He'd climbed the old willow tree in the corner of the yard with great agility and waited for many hours, past midnight, until Aunt Petunia made Aunt Marge see somewhat a sliver of sense and call the dog off. Of course, Dudley and Christopher had found this extremely amusing and had bugged him constantly about it for some time, until the summer ended and it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

"Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, "and while we're on the topic," he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry, "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

Christopher withdrew his gaze from the television with a smug grin, sensing Harry's displeasure. Dudley, almost reluctantly, followed suit.

"Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"All right," said Harry bitterly, "if she does when she's talking to me."

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your _abnormality_," his eyes briefly flicked to Christopher before continuing, "I don't want any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?

"I will if she does," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," Vernon said, his eyes barely even slits in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

_"What?"_ Harry nearly shrieked.

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble," spat Uncle Vernon. Turning his head, he spoke in a considerably softer tone to Christopher, "We've told her that you go to Smeltings with Dudley."

"I would expect as much," Christopher all but sneered.

Nodding, Uncle Vernon turned to go and set his breakfast dishes by the sink. He gave Dudley a pat on the shoulder before heading out into the hall.

Harry, getting an idea, followed him out after sticking his dish on top of Uncle Vernon's.

The fatter man paused as he realised Harry was behind him. "I'm not taking _you,"_ he said, pulling his arm through his coat sleeve.

"Like I wanted to come," Harry replied coldly. "I want to ask you something."

Uncle Vernon lifted his eyebrows suspiciously but didn't say anything which Harry took as an invitation to go on.

"Third-years are at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," Harry began.

"So?"

The man wasn't very quick, apparently.

"I need you to sign my permission form," Harry smoothly and calmly countered.

"And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.

So, the man wasn't willing to let go of the past and see reason. He chose his next words carefully.

"Well, it'll be hard work, pretending that I go to St. Whatsit's …" Harry said, putting his acting charade on, looking up to Uncle Vernon's increasingly purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I were to accidentally let something slip?"

_"You'd get the stuffing knocked out of you, wouldn't you?"_ roared Uncle Vernon, raising his fist threateningly. Harry, however, stood his ground.

"Having the stuffing knocked out of me wouldn't make Marge forget what I could tell her," Harry smirked, almost smugly. "But if you sign my permission form, I'll act normal and remember where I go to school and everything."

Uncle Vernon's jaw ground from side to side audibly. "If I find your behaviour acceptable … I'll sign your ruddy form."

Grinning, Harry headed upstairs to make sure everything related to Hogwarts and magic was hidden from sight; excluding his wand, of course – that would always be on his person. It appeared both Hedwig and Errol had left sometime during the night or morning when he had been eating because the owl cage was empty. He headed downstairs just as Vernon's car rolled in the driveway.

Petunia opened the door for her fat sister-in-law. Bumping their jawbones, Petunia greeted her, "How lovely to see you, Marge! Anything I could get you, dear? Tea, perhaps?"

"That would be lovely, yes, and Ripper'll take some tea out of the saucer, if you would," the immense woman replied. Upon seeing Dudley and Christopher, she cooed, "How is my little Dudders! And the birthday boy himself – Christie! Come and give your auntie a hug!"

The boys allowed her to wrap her massive arms around them, each "mysteriously" having gained a twenty-pound note when her arms returned to her sides.

Seeing Harry, however, dealt a very different reaction. The woman visibly pouted and immediately got to work on ruining his day.

"So, still here are you? You just couldn't let your aunt and uncle live in peace. You know, if he had come to my doorstep, I would have thrown him straight into the orphanage. Don't know why you haven't yet, Petunia," she said, calling out the woman who was bringing a tea-tray and a doggy dish with brown liquid like Marge had asked. The heaviest woman led the party into the sitting room. They chatted for about half an hour before Aunt Petunia left for the kitchen, dragging Harry with her to prepare dinner.

One week later, during the evening meal (steak, buttered asparagus and mashed potatoes), talk turned to that of Aunt Marge's dogs back home.

"So, how are the dogs doing, Marge?" Uncle Vernon queried.

"Oh, I have Colonel Fubster looking after them," boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, so it's good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor Ripper behind – he gets right upset when he's away from me."

Topics of schooling between Dudley and Christopher came up, and the insult of Harry's supposed school also made an appearance.

"So where does Harry go to school, then? You haven't mentioned Harry going to Smelting's."

"Well, no, Harry goes to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. It's a first-rate institute for hopeless cases," Uncle Vernon informed her. He looked toward Harry as if to say _'Don't screw this up, or there'll be trouble!'_

"And do they use the cane at St. Brutus', boy?" Marge barked from across the table.

Flicking his eyes towards Uncle Vernon to witness the man's chins wobble as he nodded, Harry replied to Aunt Marge, saying, "All the time. Some of the bruises I've had lasted for weeks afterwards." He even remembered to school his face into somewhat of a pout and made his voice sound depressed.

"Well, good. I wouldn't trust any school where they're too cowardly to discipline with the necessary force." Marge harrumphed, turning back to her meal.

Satisfied that he had dodged the bullet, once everyone was done Harry cleared the table and brought out the dessert and wine. Aunt Petunia sliced the cake and Harry gave everyone a plate. Aunt Petunia also poured glasses for the three adults.

In her alcohol-induced state, Aunt Marge was truly horrible. The things that came out of her mouth were not unlike things that Rita Skeeter would say if the journalist was not held back in any form. She criticized things as if she was the master of knowledge about them – not that they would be heeding her biased opinions, but it was disgusting nonetheless.

"There's always one bad pup in a litter. Always gets into trouble, thinks that he's the alpha and marks his territory everywhere, that kind of thing. Oh, destructive too. Usually, I mean, I just take those ones and drown them … But really, those are the kind of pups that showcase the stereotypes that the breed gets. Such a shame, really, I just wish more people weren't such big cowards and actually offed them before they could get a chance to pass on their destructive genes. Really, keeping them alive doesn't do anyone any favours."

It was obvious that Marge at this point was only half talking about dogs, considering the way that she was glaring at Harry as if she was the reason for every single unfortunate thing that had happened in her life.

Highly aware of Dudley and Christopher's snickering, Harry concentrated on keeping his temper in check. If he performed any accidental magic, he would be saying _"goodbye!"_ to Hogsmeade.

"I remember the first pup I had to drown … he was a troublemaker, he was. Always chewing up my slippers. I don't know how many pairs I went through before I had the sense to get it over with and put the thing out of its misery."

Drowning out the woman's words, he remembered a section from his Charms book … "Bombarda _(bom-BAR-duh) is a spell that produces a strong blast that can slam open doors and throw heavy objects across the room."_

"The rest of the litter was much calmer after that, I assure you. Much more friendly and approachable."

_"The spell _Lumos_ (LOO-mos) creates a small beam of white light at the tip of the wand once cast. It –"_

"– that year, I even had to drown two of the things; it was as if once the first died the second was doing it in rebellion –"

_"– to repel water and other materials, one can use the spell _Impervious_ (ihm-PER-vee-us) on an object. This –"_

"– last year I had only 3 pups, so of course having to drown the firstborn –"

_"– repairs damage done to an object –"_

"– looked a lot like its father –"

It was if his magic _twitched_ with anger; pieces of Marge's wine glass went everywhere.

Hardly bothered, Marge said, "Not to worry, not to worry … I have a very strong grip; I shattered a glass at Colonel Fubster's the other day …"

Meanwhile, Petunia panicked and got straight to cleaning up the glass. Dudley and Christopher had stopped their snickering to make sure they hadn't been targets of the fragmented glass. Uncle Vernon glared at Harry as if to say, "Bedroom, _now."_

Happy to oblige, Harry got up and pushed in his chair. However, it seemed as if Aunt Marge wasn't going to stop there.

"It's not your fault, Petunia … sometimes the bad ones are just born that way."

And before she realized it, Marge began to swell up like a balloon filled with hydrogen. The buttons on her shirt burst off, the seam of her pants between her buttocks ripped, her necklace broke, and she began to float up out of her chair. On her face was a mixture of shock and disbelief. Overcome with horror, she didn't speak or make any discernible movement when she found herself hit the ceiling.

But Harry was long gone. As soon as the words were out of the foul woman's mouth and Harry could feel his magic sealing the woman's fate, he turned and ran up the stairs into his room. He packed up everything of his that he would need (which was made easier by his storing of his things one week prior), stuffed it all in his trunk (again, keeping his wand out), and dragged it down the stairs. He would leave from the place if they were going to be so disrespectful towards him. Let them try to stop him.

About to unbolt the door, Harry was belated by Vernon's thundering scream.

"YOU GET BACK HERE AND PUT HER RIGHT!" The man's mustache fluttered.

Not about to stand down, especially with the adrenaline running through his veins, Harry matched Vernon's volume. "SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT AND YOU MUST BE _MAD_ IF YOU THINK _I'D_ GO TO THE TROUBLE OF FIXING HER!"

Harry was gripping the handle on his trunk so tight that if he held it any tighter, it would probably break. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears and feel the flow throughout his body; his breathing was deep and heavy.

Harry yanked on the doorknob and could feel the cool night air rejuvenate his sweaty skin. The sensation was incredible. He felt he could punch down the thickest brick wall, swim for miles on end, and climb the highest mountain all in one go … without breaking a sweat.

With this new awareness racking his body, he turned to Vernon to give the man a malicious smile.

"I had hoped, when I was little, that one day I would be treated right. As I got older, I realised that such a thing would be nigh impossible. So here I am today, walking out from your mistreatment and abuse … goodbye, for I desire that this would be the last time you see me."

And he walked through the door frame, on the little bit of pavement from the door to the road. He turned left and headed down the street.

And, in reality, he had never felt so _alive._

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ Whew! We're off to a great start. Tell me what you think. I haven't got a fully-developed storyline, as many circumstances and decisions are subject to change (including pairing(s) - I don't have any planned as of yet). It'd be appreciated if glaring typos and "Americanisms" (*cough cough* I'm Canadian *cough*) were to be pointed out. Also, please point out any sentences that you had to stop and think about before they made sense. Many thanks in advance.

Let me know what you are looking forward to in this story, what you don't want this story to turn out like, and even if this story reminds you of another that you've read that you liked.

You can google up the whole two-legged/four-legged thing if you want, or just say something in your review and I can tell you _all _about it.

PLEASE ask me anything related (or unrelated, I suppose) to the story if you feel so inclined.  
A virtual cupcake to anyone who reviews. Even if it just a "Looking forward to the next chapter." (And to those who type exactly that … *waggles finger reprovingly like Lockhart*)

Note that I borrowed some text that is very close to the original book. If you're as big of a Potterhead as I am you know which parts.

EDIT: If you're reading this, then review! I don't care if it's been 3 days or 3 years since it was uploaded, I love my reviews! They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!


	2. The Three Fates

_**AN:** _Sorry for the long wait. I can be a bit stubborn, which means I won't post something if I'm not completely happy with it. Or, in this chapter's case, if I've tried to make it how I wanted but it was taking too long and I took pity on you guys. It's a little longer, though, 6 100 words! That's enough to keep the mobs at bay, right? *glances back and forth nervously, with a fake-looking smile*

_Chapter originally posted Nov 15, 2014_

* * *

Chapter 2 – The Three Fates

Harry could swear that his vision was sharper, his hearing clearer, and his instinct sharper; such was the adrenaline running through his veins. It was as though all of his senses had been boosted to the top of their ability, like some all-knowing predator.

So when he heard the crunch of grass as something large approached, his head snapped towards the sound to witness a black _something_ poke its head out from under a bush. Its eyes were grey, looking like copies of the moon in the streetlamp light. He smoothly pulled out his wand, in case the thing were to attack (under-age wizards could use magic in self-defence), and took a curious, but confident, step forward.

The thing stood still – in fact, perhaps it had shrunk away a bit. Noting that it wasn't going to attack, then, he was about to relax the grip on his wand when – BANG – a great triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere.

Jumping back, he stumbled on the curb but managed not to fall. He quickly made himself look presentable, so that when the wizard, Stan Shunpike, came off the bus the speckled teen didn't notice a thing.

"Aye, welcome to the Knight Bus." He continued to state the fare and other fancy words that had obviously been rehearsed thoroughly.

Paying the boy for the regular fare, with no additives, Harry picked up his trunk. He really ought to put a lightweight charm on it, Harry thought. Hauling it around like this was not something that many wizards did.

"Why're you out 'ere, in the middle of a muggle neighbour'ood, then? Strange. I 'adn't thought that wizards lived in this part."

Slightly annoyed at the man's intruding question, he replied, "I didn't ask where you go or what you do on your days off, Stan. Maybe you should follow my lead?" He shoved Hedwig's empty cage into the boy's hands (she was off hunting again).

"Well, that's no fun then, innit'. Pick a seat, then; anywhere you like," the teen frowned, supposedly wondering why Harry was so quick to snap at him.

Honestly, it was probably because of Aunt Marge … and the fact that he couldn't investigate the creature further without either stalling the bus, or waving it off and then attempting to call it a minute later. Because the fact that such a means of transportation existed was lucky for him, really. If it hadn't shown up, he would have either walked or gone on his broom, covering himself in his brother's cloak, which he had packed; the only things Christopher used it for was a shame to the potential of the cloak. Also, because Christopher wouldn't be able to use it here … Vernon and Petunia would confiscate it no matter which twin it was from if they realised that a magical device was being used. They really were that paranoid of magic. So, in that regard, he was safe of Christopher knowing that he had the thing at all.

He did a quick investigative search of the bus with his eyes before choosing a seat a few rows from the front and sitting down with his things on the ratty old beds that shifted with the movement of the bus.

The vehicle jerked and they were in a completely different place. It looked to be some rolling green hills with puffy light grey clouds that tried to block out the stars. It was a sickly-looking woman who had help from Stan before the teen himself asked Harry where he was headed.

Having already thought about his plans, Harry merely muttered to the boy, "Diagon Alley," making sure to position his features to imply that no more questions were to be asked.

The teen ignored it, and instead probed, "You do look a lot like that Christopher Potter, though, 'innit? You know, the Boy-'oo-Lived? 'Choo don' 'ave the scar, though …"

Really, it wasn't as though Harry _wanted_ to estrange the boy, but some people just couldn't take the hint – _despite_ earlier instances.

"No, my _twin_ is still being the pretty-boy that everyone loves, isn't he? Not that anyone ever remembers that he has a brother …"

Appalled at the implication, Stan Shunpike could barely even blink before the driver, Ernie, asked to clarify where Harry was going. Answering with a bright "Diagon Alley!" and a smile to the older, non-intrusive man, Harry made sure his things were together as they _jumped _to the middle of London, weaving their way through cars. Of course, the muggles couldn't see the bus because of the enchantments, such was obvious, and it barely took a minute before they were in front of The Leaky Cauldron.

Stan appeared to be in auto-pilot such was his shock, but that only served to make Harry a bit happier. Helping Harry with his trunk, the boy thanked him with the standard goodbye and hopped back on the bus for it to disappear seconds later.

"If it had been Christopher – oh boy! – that would have been the death of me … at least he has the sense to behave, that one … of course, he is a bright lad, so I've been told, so it's no surprise …"

Hearing the Minister of Magic's words, Harry quickly used his grown-out hair to cover his face as best he could. Christopher, unlike him, had cut his hair short – preferring to spike it up, the better to show off his scar. He shrunk into the shadows, knowing that it would be much harder to be noticed let alone recognised. It wouldn't be good to be seen by the _Minister_, of all people.

"Probably did it for attention – jealousy at its work, no doubt. Hard _not_ to be jealous of someone like Christopher, of course. Can't imagine that a lot of people _wouldn't_ be nagging at themselves to be just like him."

It was as though the Minister was trying to convince himself of the fact – as if he could barely believe it himself. Well, with the amount of wizards nearby, the Trace wouldn't be able to work (adults being around Trace carriers deadened the effect – the ministry wouldn't be able to tell if the magic came from the adult or child). So why _not _relieve Fudge of that doubt?

He sent a whispered _Confundo _towards the portly man and watched as he blinked, once, twice before resuming his muttering; this time much more polite, however: "Wonder where he's got to … shouldn't be out and about now that Black's out from Azkaban …"

Satisfied with his work, Harry shrunk his trunk with a tap from his wand, stuffed it carefully in his pocket, and entered the Leaky Cauldron. He loitered around a couple of tables to see if gossip travelled as fast as he feared, and that they were somehow discussing him (which they weren't – it wasn't as if they were aware that The-Boy-Who-is-Hippogriff-Dung had a twin) before asking for one of the cheaper rooms to stay in for the rest of the summer. Happy that he had a relatively long-term customer, Tom, the bartender, even gave Harry a discount for any meals that he ate there.

Walking up to Room 5, Harry glanced through one of the open doorways a couple of doors down from his own. There was a young maid sprucing up the place after the last resident. She dusted, cleaned, and polished the surfaces using a couple of simple spells before flicking her wand towards the bed where the pillows fluffed and the covers tucked in. She replaced old towels and things with several murmured _Accios_ and Banishment Charms. She looked like she was done and as she started to turn towards the door Harry was already gone.

Really, those spells were simple enough … if his room wasn't up to par, he could always use those spells himself. And, upon entering his room … he immediately set to work mimicking the witch he had spied upon.

He added locking spells to the door, as well a couple of simple privacy wards that he had had the chance of stumbling upon while he was reading last year. He also set an alarm charm that would wake him with some of his favourite music at an appropriate time in the morning. He then unshrunk his trunk, got dressed in some wizardly-looking pajamas and organised his things in his trunk before heading in for an early night.

* * *

Harry woke up according to his alarm's music. He got up, dressed, refreshed himself, and took down the privacy charms that he had placed. He did, however, leave the locking charm so that there wouldn't be any chance of theft. It didn't matter that the maid couldn't enter the room, as there wasn't much that the maid could do that he wouldn't be able to.

By the time he had made it down to the main pub, it was 7 am and the only people here were the perky morning staff as well as a few businessmen and the like, eager to start their day with some breakfast, or simply walking briskly on through.

Harry ordered some French toast with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. He also asked for a glass of chocolate milk, and chocolate sauce to drizzle onto the toast.

While he was waiting, he grabbed this morning's _Daily Prophet_ from an adjacent table and read about the escape of the Prisoner of Azkaban, a pureblood of the surname "Black". So many people had died … he had a moment of introspection thinking about the victims, looking up to see the waitress bring his breakfast. He spread the whipped cream across the French toast, chopped up his strawberries, drowned it in chocolate sauce and ate it. It was a meal that he hadn't had in a long time, one that he hadn't had the misfortune of associating with bad memories. And it tasted so, _so_ good. Between each bite, he read a bit more of Black's story, slowly gathering information about the convict. Harry had just about forgotten about his food. Forcing himself to finish the last forkful, he nursed the straw of his chocolate milk and summarised his finds: a crazy Death Eater, insanely difficult to duel against, and was apparently rather popular while at Hogwarts – among other things.

Harry was broken out of his reverie by the maid who came to take his dishes away. He went back to his room and grabbed his money pouch, placing a few anti-theft charms on it before heading back out to buy his things for his third year.

Thankfully, not too many people were out so early in the day (witches and wizards tended to get lazy), so no one confused him for his brother – or at least, didn't confront him about it. And on that train of thought … he really ought to learn how to learn how to change his appearance with magic or potions. Nothing too drastic, but something that would set him and his brother apart.

At Flourish &amp; Blotts, there was a great cage containing the same book that Hagrid had sent him. The books inside were quick to destroy and attack each other, Harry was amazed that so many were even left by this show of viciousness. He made sure no one was watching and then cast a spell that had ropes exiting the tip of his wand and wrapping around each individual book, ensuring that they would no longer continue their bloodthirsty fight. That would certainly end the headache the store owner surely had. Deciding to make his shopping a quick affair, Harry purchased the following (he decided that he would buy the ones that caught his eye later, as books got quite heavy):

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 3),_ by Miranda Goshawk

_Intermediate Transfiguration,_ by Emeric Switch

_The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts,_ by Arsenius Jigger

_Numerology and Grammatica, _by Pythagoras Vane

_Ancient Runes Made Easy, _by Laurenzoo

He also restocked his potion ingredients, asking the man for third-year level products. He figured that he would place ever-fresh charms on the entire thing once he was in his room. Waste was such a stupid thing.

Harry ate a hearty tomato-based vegetable and barley soup as well as rice with a grilled chicken breast for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron before dragging his purchases upstairs and casting feather-weight and the aforementioned ever-fresh charms on them. He stored them neatly in his trunk, before resting on his bed and poking through his new course books for a half-hour. Despite what some people thought, shopping was tiring.

At two o'clock, Harry headed back out into the Alley so he could buy his school robes. The ones he had now were short and showed too much ankle for his liking. He walked into Madam Malkin's, and saw that both the witches who sized robes were busy. He sat in one of the armchairs and picked up a style magazine. He noted a couple different articles of clothing you could buy, as well as a little square of text that said something about charms to automatically fit clothing to the wearer as they grew, within a certain limit.

Madam Malkin finished with the older witch she had been measuring and called Harry over. She asked what Harry wanted.

"Well, I'll need new Hogwarts robes as well as a new outdoor cloak – but whatever material the old one was made of didn't seem like enough, I was always cold … especially 'round Christmas in the dungeons."

She fitted the new material on him, and when she made the heavier cloak she used a fabric with a thicker lining, as requested.

"Anything else, my dear?"

"Yes, I was looking in your magazine and was wondering if you could make me a new pair of Dragon-hide gloves? My old ones are rather small. And some good socks would be appreciated."

She smiled at him and brought him over to some racks where he could try on some gloves as well pick out a pair of socks that he would like.

"Is there anything else that you saw in my magazine, dear, or are you done?" she said, with a twinkle in her eye and crow's feet adorning the corners, which appeared to be something not often seen.

"Actually, yes – there was a bit about adding charms that sized the material as you grew? Do you think you could do that for me?

She chuckled. "Why, that is something that used to be very common … I suppose people just forgot about it. Usually, I add a Sickle or two for it, but because you've been so nice, I'll let you have it free. Deal?"

He tried to bargain with her, saying that he could pay for it fine, but she wouldn't have it. She brought him and his purchases to the store counter and placed the charm on all of his things before asking him for his payment.

He let his eyes linger while waiting for her to finish with the transaction, and saw a donation jar to St. Mungo's. He quietly slipped two Sickles inside and was ready for the bag of clothes that she had made up before the woman had even put the sale record in her ledger.

Harry proceeded to walk out the door with his things and was long gone before the woman saw the extra Sickles in the donation jar.

"He's a good boy, he is … if only there were more of them in this world." Madam Malkin's calculating eye turned towards where Gregory Goyle and his overweight mother had walked in the door.

* * *

In the next couple of weeks, time passed in the same manner for Harry. He would shop by day and read by night. He had bought more supplies for school, including ink and quills, parchment and a new set of potion knives and stir sticks. He had also visited a store full of magical gadgets like telescopes and things to buy equipment for Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Runes. The man behind the counter had recommended the strange objects, and although neither were on his equipment list, he had purchased them. One was bronze-coloured and strangely heavy while the other was sleek-looking silver. Harry had also looked at the Firebolt, a new international-standard broom that had arrived at _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. From what he could tell, it was one expensive broom – the fact that the price wasn't displayed, and was only available upon request, spoke for that fact alone.

On the very last day of August, Harry was preparing to leave for school. He stored his many possessions in his trunk neatly and orderly. It made things made easier when he was in a rush to be able to grab whatever he needed with barely a glance, rather than have to sit down and rummage through the entire thing. Books went on the left; stacked with the ones he had already started reading on top. His clothing went on the right; his heavier clothes near the bottom and the things he would need immediately on top. His shoes, telescope, cauldron, and various other odds and ends (including the Arithmancy gadgets) were in between. His broom was across the length of the entire trunk overtop of everything. His invisibility cloak and wand were tucked away on his person.

He figured that he would simply take the Knight Bus to King's Cross – it wasn't as though he had many other options in that regard. Muggle taxis were slow and could be very costly, and he wasn't sure if there were fireplaces hooked up to the floo system at King's Cross. Also, he was both too young and had little to no experience apparating.

He had everything lined up at the foot of his bed, ready to be hauled off first thing the next morning.

Deciding to enjoy his last day of freedom, Harry walked outside and went to Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor. Near every day since taking residence in Diagon alley he had come to sample the different flavours that the man offered. He had tried outrageous flavours such as Floo Powder (_much_ better than it sounded), Unicorn's Horn, Pumpkin Pie, Vampire Blood, and Griffin Claw. There were even flavours for the four different houses of Hogwarts, respectively.

In the mood for a more mundane flavour today, Harry merely ordered a mint-chocolate chip double-scoop cone. After all, today was going to be the final day of relaxation before it was time to get the flow of learning juices going, and the wizarding flavours were a bit too flamboyant to be in agreement with his day's plans (or lack thereof).

As he sat down at one of the tables to do a little people-watching, Harry noticed two people join up with a third. The two had almost finished their cones and the other looked as though he was deciding if he should buy one as well. The boy nodded to himself decisively and led their group to stand in the long queue for his own ice cream.

Of course, Harry knew just who exactly those three people were – and they spoiled his day just being in his sight. It was Christopher and his most _loyal_ followers Weasley and Granger. Harry got up and walked aimlessly through the crowds, easily taking control of his sudden spike of hatred towards his brother and calming himself enough to enter a small but comfortable Seer's shop, on a whim. He didn't put much stock by Divination, hence not taking the class, but he idly thought that perhaps such bogus-ness would set the quiet mood for the rest of the day.

He looked at the different things available on the shelves. He noticed a sign above a door that mentioned the services of the owner herself to tell the future for any individual. Taking a glance at the sign that read "Unoccupied, please come in," he pushed passed the heavy velvet curtain that functioned as a door and entered on a whim to perhaps have the witch tell him how horrible his life would be and that he would die a truly gruesome death.

The room inside was dark and slightly cramped – it was almost reminiscent of the old cupboard he had lived in for many a year. The woman was seated behind a table that had many different methods of reading the future laid out on a thick maroon tablecloth. There were tarot cards, a book on palmistry, a crystal ball centred on the table, tea and mugs for tea-leaf reading, and another method that he couldn't quite place what it was but couldn't care to know. He supposed it looked somewhat similar to the game of Yut, but it was so completely different that it couldn't be.

The woman looked up and smiled mysteriously at him. She beckoned him with a lazy hand to sit down.

"My name is Cassarah Trelawney. Now, what method are we looking into today?"

"Nothing in particular. Whichever you feel would be the most accurate, have the best results." He waved flippantly.

"Well, in that case, I feel that palmistry is always best to start. Allows me to get a feel for the person." She continued to examine all of the creases and lines of his right hand, running her finger across it and muttering to herself.

"This is a good Life Line … splits a bit here … almost chained at the beginning … and you have a long Head Line, that's good … straight, and has lines coming upwards from it … your Heart Line starts below your middle finger, but it continues onto the side of your hand … it's rather deep, chained too. Your Fate Line is shallow and broken, but it runs from your Heart Line to the very bottom corner of your palm. You have a very interesting palm; hard to read." She allowed him to remove his hand from her grasp.

"Well, I feel the best would be to go straight to Tarot Cards. In this case, they would be the most accurate." She unearthed a basket full of different styles of decks. Offering Harry his choice, he picked one by the name of "Phoenix Tarot". It had vibrant colours and was written in another language.

"Let's go for the method of Three Fates, shall we? It reveals the past, present and future."

She shuffled the deck and allowed Harry to draw three cards, placing them on the table with the back side up. When she flipped them over, the third card was upside-down, but she did not right it. As she spoke, her voice transformed into a storyteller who was setting the stage of a wonderful tale. It sounded like wonder and mystery, all in a soft caress.

"The left card represents an important element of the past. You have the High Priestess: a pure, exalted and gracious influence. She represents education, knowledge, wisdom, and esoteric teachings, the forces of nature, intuition, and foresight.

"The middle card represents a deciding element of the present. You have the Page of Wands: the essence of fire behaving as earth, such as wood or coal; the surprising appearance of a new passion. An adventurer who blazes through life, acting as a catalyst that others may harness. The intense enthusiasm that fuels any new venture, needing only the application of mind and material to make it a success. Inner fire that can drive away fear and replace it with fury. It can represent a person of some timidity, but whose innate passion can be easily ignited.

"The right card represents a critical element of the future. You have the Queen of Wands, reversed: the dark essence of fire behaving as water, such as steam; the natural embodiment of passion and sensuality, who will do anything to be the center of attention. A seducer who calculatingly dons the guise of what others desire. A cocky and domineering person, who pushes anyone or anything aside to get what he wants, one who is vengeful and quick to take offense without good cause."

"So are these good or bad cards?" He questioned. He had no idea what all of this meant.

"In this, there is no good or bad. Only truth. The past card cannot be changed – it has already and will always shape you. The middle is the present, and represents what you are like and who you are at this moment in time. The last card, which so happens to be reversed, tells of what may be. It is not set in stone, but only you have the power to change it. This is what the universe has told us."

He nodded and made ready to leave. But before he left, he made sure to ask a couple questions that had nagged at his consciousness.

"What kind of fortune-telling is that? I've never seen it before." He pointed towards the set that he had been unable to identify.

She looked at him with calculating eyes. "They are the bones of dragon knuckles, and when cast are used to judge the future with incredible accuracy. But they can also spell certain disaster, in that some people take too harshly to the picture painted by the bones, and make decisions that do them no favours. For you, I do not think that they would complement your mentality."

He nodded, slightly disturbed. He hadn't wanted a detailed tale of what was to come any more than he wanted to drop dead on the spot.

"And I have to ask – are you related to a Sybil Trelawney? The one who teaches at Hogwarts?"

With a grin, she answered, "Yes, she is my younger sister. Though I am better known for being related to the celebrated Seer Cassandra, our grandmother. I was named in her honour, you know."

He thanked her and left the little room. He tossed a couple Knuts into the donation jar and left the store. Outside in the fresh air, he noticed that an hour had gone by. He could not see the troublesome trio anywhere and he made to return to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

All of his summer homework was done, with each done with as much detail as possible. He had been reading the first couple chapters of the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books, deciding to leave the rest to the teachers. He had read the entireties of every other subjects' books. He had even practiced some spells in his room, making sure he could cast the spells but left perfecting them to whenever they came up in class. Harry had also decided that he would get ahead this year so that by the time fourth year rolled around, he would already be halfway through or beyond OWL-level coursework. In agreement with that, all except a few of his 'light reading' books were, in fact, accompaniment or advanced spellbooks.

Harry had read through the first couple chapters of those as well and was pleased to find that they, at least, made sense. _Unlike that brother of his …_

Figuring he should rest, Harry sat down. His thoughts drifted to that of the troublesome trio and be began to remember his first few weeks of being a first-year.

_(Flashback – __First Week at Hogwarts)_

_Walking from Lunch to his Potions class saw Harry Potter alone, and lost in thought. In their hurry to meet the Boy-Who-is-Annoying, they'd completely overlooked him. At least it provided an easy excuse for him to concentrate fully in his work … he'd never so much as been sneered at by Snape. If anything, the man liked him …_

_But being a robot to his studies didn't really help him with the friend situation, though. The other students took one look at him, thought, "Eww, nerd," and then walked far away, never to return. He noticed he wasn't the only one with this problem, but she was a girl and he didn't have it in him to approach her – she would probably claim that he was trying to make a move on her and then smack him in the head with whatever book bag she'd be carrying._

_So he wandered into Potions, took his solitary seat with his head hung low. Last class, Snape had seemed to be the best teacher to mask his surprise at there being a second Potter child. But he also seemed to try to goad him into rising and attacking the professor, too._

_"__So, it's The-Boy-Who-Lived … can you tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"_

_Christopher sat there, dumbfounded._

_"Tsk, tsk, clearly fame isn't everything, Mister Potter. Let's try again. Where could you find a bezoar?"_

_Again, Christopher didn't know the answer, glancing around uncomfortably across the room, and spying jealously towards the two people who seemed to know the answer._

_Snape continued with his charade. "Could you perhaps tell me, Mister Potter, what you would get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"_

_"I honestly don't know, Professor. But I think Harry does," he said, eying the rather innocently smug form of his twin._

_"Very well. Mister Potter," Snape spun around to face Harry, "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"_

_"T__here is none. They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."_

_Snape seemed slightly surprised that he was actually able to answer, but he wasn't at all impressed. He only pressed further._

_"__Can you tell me where to find a bezoar?"_

_"In__ the stomach of a goat, much like a kidney stone."_

_"__And the product of powdered root of asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood would be ...?"_

_"__A powerful sleeping potion called 'The Draught of Living Death'."_

_With a reluctant nod, Snape grudgingly turned his attention from Harry and continued on with his lesson. He set them up with a simple potion to cure boils._

_As Harry progressed, he quickly learned that potion-making was really down to how well you could follow instructions and how efficiently you could follow those instructions. The further you got into potion-making, the more you would have to know about each individual ingredient - but as a first-year, they simply had to follow directions. His potion was exactly the colour and description it should be at its stage when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom, another Gryffindor student, had somehow managed to melt his partner Seamus Finnegan's cauldron into a twisted blob of metal and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in peoples' shoes. Within seconds, everyone was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs._

_"__Idiot boy!" Snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"_

_Boils started popping up on Neville's nose, and Professor Snape sent Seamus and Neville to the Hospital Wing. He also berated Christopher and Ron, who had been working alongside them, for not watching to make sure something like this didn't happen, and supposedly trying to make themselves look better by adding the quills to the boiling liquid. _

_Harry had left the class with a slightly better opinion of this wizard (exclusively for taking his twin down a notch) but didn't know what this next class held in store. He wondered if someone would melt a cauldron this class._

_(End Flashback)_

Back at the Leaky Cauldron, he organised everything to be taken at a moment's notice, for when he woke up in the morning he would surely be in a hurry to take the Knight Bus to Kings Cross Station and he didn't know how long the ride would be.

He again set his alarm, deciding that he would switch it up from the music that he had before.

* * *

**_AN:_** Next chapter will see Harry on the Hogwarts Express, and the start of school. It's going to be very busy for Harry. After that, things will soon pick up speed, methinks.

I borrowed some text from the original works by J. K. Rowling and modified it a little to fit my story (in this chapter and in the last) - if you're as big of a Potterhead as I am you know which parts.

Again, please review! Ask me questions, give me suggestions, point out errors, the like. I don't care if it's been 3 hours or 3 years since the chapter has been posted, all reviews are welcome.  
I would love to thank all of you who reviewed last chapter - _xp3r1a, V-Vendetta, autumngold _(Guest)_, adenoide _(Guest)_, Fan _(Guest)_, Local Nutter _(Guest)_, SnowFrost13, iiAliceii, algrover, Faiien, Emily _(Guest)_, Slapster, thekingofsweden1, and jonh73_. I've replied to every single one of you who have signed in, and most of you seem to have raised the question of why the Dursleys like Christopher, but not Harry. Unfortunately for you guys, you're going to have to wait for the answer! This isn't going to be a mammoth story (I'd die before I finished writing it) so you won't have to wait too long (hopefully).  
A lot of you have mentioned pairings. As of right now in the story, Harry is entering his third year. That means he is 13. Frankly, when I was thirteen I couldn't care less about dating, so we'll wait 'till next year to analyze who Harry should be paired with (though I already have a few likely candidates in mind, thanks to you guys!) Go ahead and keep suggesting if you want. If a bunch of you want a specific pairing, I'm more inclined to write it (unless of course it screws with the plotline).

Just some replies to guest reviews that you can ignore if you didn't review as guest (there's nothing below them):

**autumngold:** Wasn't planning on it, and now you've seen it. Unfortunately, I think it'll take a little more than just having one magical member in their house instead of two to realise how Christopher (and, somewhat, Dudley as well) really is/are.  
**adenoide: **I am a twin myself, and the idea of treating mine like that is almost repulsive to me, as well. But you have to remember that Christopher mirrored Dudley in order to 'survive' (aka not be yelled at) so for the Dursleys to acknowledge the bad ways of one while their own son does the same would be hard for them, and so they never have. There's more to this, but I'll go into it later on in the plot.  
**Fan: **Great to hear you're looking forward to it. As of now, I have only ideas that are being tossed around like a juggler, and I am leaning towards ones that would fit with the plot. So no specific pairing per sé, but we'll find that out in my rendition of GoF or perhaps OotP.  
**Local Nutter: **I admit, not a pairing I was considering for this story before seeing your comment (also, I love your name! haha). I don't think I will go slash, for this story. It doesn't ... fit? feel right? It just doesn't match my idea of the story with a slash pairing.  
**Emily: **Yes, starting this chapter Harry's story starts to become his own.


	3. Aboard The Express

_**AN:**_ Merry/Happy Christmas! And, well, if you don't celebrate Christmas, the intent is the same.  
Sorry this chapter is a little late, but I had to cut off my fanfiction time due to some before-the-winter-break exams, as well as just general work and busy-ness around this time of the year. To make up for that, though, here is a 6 600 word chapter! Woo! Now go get your snacks because you'll be here for a while.

**Edit:** Thanks to the lovely review of **Hortensia, **I have made a couple corrections including the price of the Bus and an irregularity in the logic with Dean &amp; Seamus on Sept 1 in their dorm (I mentioned that Harry wouldn't be able to hear their arrival, but they were already in the dorm).

**NOTE** that January's chapter will likely be late. Please send me angry PMs to fix this. On that note, I'm thinking a new chapter every month is a good 'schedule' for me – though if I'm taking an exceptionally long (or short, it's your choice) time to write I encourage you to PM me with snarls of anger saying I need to post.

**ANOTHER NOTE:** I got added to a community! Woo! It's a Dark!Harry community. And I'm kinda excited. On the topic of that kind of stuff, though, did you guys know that I have over 4000 views? Now that just makes me happy.

_Chapter originally posted Dec 25, 2014_

* * *

Chapter 3 – Aboard the Express

The Hogwarts Express waits at the station for an hour before leaving, meaning that it arrives at ten. That was when Harry planned to be there – he certainly wasn't going to wait around all day and try to squeeze into a full compartment. Not that anyone would let him sit with them.

He woke, showered, dressed, and ate quickly (sweet and sticky glazed cinnamon buns made a tasty breakfast). He hauled his trunk down the narrow stairs from his room into the main dinner area, but not before changing his appearance a little to ensure ease of travel. He paused to consider his method of transport. Going by the Knight Bus would cost around ten to fifteen sickles while using the public floo would be cheap – most likely only a knut or two. The Knight Bus would be slower, and he would have to deal with Stan Shunpike or whoever was conducting; using the floo would be much quicker, but it would be awkward to hug his trunk in the fireplace. He didn't even know if there was a fire connected to the floo at King's Cross.

He sighed, figuring that he would at least know what he was doing if he went on the Knight Bus. Grabbing his things, he headed out the door into the street. He stuck out his wand over the pavement, ignoring passers-by.

A great big triple-decker bus appeared in the street with a _bang_; it wound its way through traffic coming to a full stop in front of him.

Harry stepped on, noticed that the same bothersome two were staffing the bus, and assumed an alternate personality to ensure Stan would say "hello", ask where he was going, and leave it at that. He wasn't going to be rude to the man – quite the opposite – but he still felt assured knowing Stan wouldn't be able to connect the dots between whom he'd met in early August to whom he'd meet in a minute. It was a strange thought, but it would guarantee that if someone (for whatever reason) were to decide to follow where Harry had gone, they wouldn't be near as fruitful.

"A'right there, where you 'eaded off to?" Stan asked, in a good mood.

"King's Cross, if you would," Harry replied, not quite as chirpy as the teen but nowhere near as grumpy as he had been the last time.

Harry paid the money and settled in for the ride. The ride didn't take nearly as long as he'd expected; perhaps 15 minutes later, Stan told him that they were nearly there. Harry made sure all of his things were accounted for in time for the bus to _jerk_ to a stop in front of King's Cross Station.

"Thank you!" Harry smiled, immeasurably happier with this ride than his first.

"'S no problem, 'ave a good day!" Came the reply before the purple triple-decker was speeding away, out of sight.

Harry wasted no time finding a trolley, loading his things on it, and making his way to the platform. He casually walked to the chunk of brick wall leading to 9 ¾, making his way through to a platform that, in comparison to the other times he had seen it, was insanely empty. There were one or two large families, and a handful of groups consisting of two to four people. He noted that he was the only loner – a fact that would be easier to hide in crowds, but not with so few people. They would undoubtedly get suspicious; he would have to draw as little attention as possible.

Harry went "stealth mode" and tried to reach his destination (the cars of the Express) as quietly and as out-of-the-way as possible. He was nearly there, right behind one of the larger groups – when a lady, who obviously was the matriarch, caught him out.

"Oh, hello, didn't see you there – do you need any help? I don't see any family following behind you."

It wasn't the lady's fault, he reminded himself. She had no way of knowing that he even existed. She was ignorant of that fact – and he couldn't blame her for it.

"No, I'm fine, my parents are just on a tight schedule today so they dropped me off but had to quickly leave. It's not hard to get on the train, though, I should be able to manage," he finished with a sly wink. Usually, that act was what got people to see he wasn't just a kid – the fact that he had a brain under there, and all.

She grinned, somewhat pained, though; it came out like half a grimace. "Alright, but if you need anything dear, we'll be out here until the train leaves."

He reassured her he'd be fine, waved, and left – there was no point trying to stick to the shadows now. Once his cover was blown, he couldn't really slink back. They'd be watching for him.

He loaded his things on the train car, and – once he was out of sight – cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on the lot. He made his way to the very far end of the train. Only a handful of the compartments had things inside; all of the students were still milling about with their _loving_ families.

In the last compartment on the right, which was his compartment (by tradition), he opened the door only to find someone already there. He was a man, wearily looking through papers, who looked aged beyond his years; his soft brown hair had streaks of grey, and he had a terrible case of crow's feet. His robes were shabby and patched in many places. He was pale and looked a little peaky.

Harry noticed a briefcase with what he assumed was the man's name on it: "Professor R. J. Lupin." He figured that he might as well share the compartment with this man; he might make some intelligent company (a truly drastic change from the Dursleys!), Harry thought. Even if the man would not speak the entire time, that suited Harry. He could read to his heart's content.

Noticing Harry in the doorway, the man smiled. "Hello, ready to go to Hogwarts?"

Harry wanted to continue in his "doom and gloom" mindset, but the cheeriness of this man rubbed off. "Yes, the fact is, though … usually I sit in this compartment. Alone." Let him make of that what he would.

The man stopped to frown, before continuing, "Surely not by yourself? You look like a fine young man. Do you want me to move? Or I could keep you company, if you like."

Harry shrugged. Spending the ride to Hogwarts with what he supposed was the new Defence teacher wouldn't be bad – in fact, he might find it informative. The man could give him tips and tricks about various subjects. Grabbing a couple books, Harry chucked his things in the luggage rack (he had cancelled the levitation spell – he wasn't in school yet and technically wasn't supposed to be using magic, he couldn't let others see) and sat down opposite the man. Lucky he had decided to sit on that side of the compartment, really. Harry still could have his reserved spot.

Opening his book on Ancient Runes (it was quite interesting, really), Harry didn't notice the man's curiosity getting the better of him. Professor Lupin examined Harry's appearance but obviously came up with the solution that, as much as he might look like it, the teenager sitting across from him wasn't one Christopher Potter. But didn't Chris have a brother?

Lost in his thoughts, the man fell asleep just before the rush of students came for the Express.

* * *

Harry didn't bother looking up when the train left the station. In fact, the only time he really noticed (and paid attention to) what was going on in the reality around him was when the sweet trolley came.

He bought a handful of cauldron cakes and a couple chocolate frogs. He wasn't much of a card collector, but he liked the chocolate. He even bought two pumpkin pasties.

Noticing that the older man was still asleep, Harry made to wake him when the trolley witch interrupted his progress.

"I'll be up front with the driver if he's hungry when he wakes," she smiled sweetly.

"Nah, he's been sleeping nearly the entire time, if he doesn't wake now he won't be able to fall asleep after the feast." Harry shook the man's shoulder. He blinked once, twice, and then became aware of the world around him. He bought plenty of chocolate frogs with an impish grin. Something told Harry that the man enjoyed this little brief revisit to his Hogwarts days. "Nothing like a stash of chocolate, eh?" He winked.

Harry merely smiled a knowing grin.

For the next hour or so, they only chatted about inconsequential things: different school subjects, tricks to certain spells, secret passageways, and students of both Lupin's past and Harry's house and year mates.

When Lupin learned that Harry was in third year, he asked about Hogsmeade, and if Harry was excited to go.

Harry, suddenly a little bitter, replied, "Well, I suppose you'll have to tell me all about the place because I can't go. My guardians didn't sign the permission slip."

And, to Harry's disbelief, Lupin assumed a calculating facial expression before offering, "I think I could sign it for you. I've spoken with you and can confirm that you've been nothing but nice, and won't get into trouble." With a sparkle in his eye, he looked like he'd hardly care if Harry went and pulled pranks like the Weasley twins.

But Harry wasn't going to get his hopes up for naught. "Can you really do that? Won't Dumbledore be angry? Why are you offering?" He was squinting so much it was a wonder he could still see out of his eyes, he was that suspicious.

The weary man sighed, a little bit of amusement shining in his eyes. "Yes, as a teacher I can sign the slip. No, I don't think Dumbledore will be angry. And I was trying to be nice – I had the ability to allow you to go to Hogsmeade, so I offered my services. Does that satisfy you?"

Harry didn't respond but pulled out the crumpled permission slip and shoved it into Lupin's waiting hand. He took it, an inked quill already poised above the parchment. He paused before writing.

"_I knew you were a Potter."_ He scribbled a loopy signature onto the line and handed the parchment back to Harry.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Suspicious eyes studied the man before him.

"Well, I saw you come in here, but I knew you weren't Christopher. He has that scar on his forehead, whereas you don't. Also, why would _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ sit in a compartment alone? Surely he would have queues of people waiting to visit with him? I then remembered that Christopher had a brother. And I wondered if you were him."

Harry paused. "Yes," he nodded. "There's a difference with you, though – most people are shocked to learn that their precious savior has a twin. They'd never had the foggiest notion. You, on the other hand, had already known Chris had a brother and guessed that he could be I." Harry's long-haired head tilted to the side questioningly. "How do you know so much?"

Lupin's eyes glazed over; he must have been recalling a memory. "I was friends with your parents at Hogwarts, and after graduation. We kept in touch, right until that night." He then looked straight at Harry, as if to judge his reaction. "You were always the quieter, easier baby. Christopher would make a fuss if he didn't get fed on time."

"He hasn't changed, then."

Lupin frowned but dropped it. He pulled out a leather-bound journal and wrote some in it, before checking the time.

"We're nearly there; you should get changed into your robes."

Harry brought down his trunk and pulled out a set of robes and was about to store it back up when he felt marginally colder.

"A little chilly in here, isn't it?" Harry said, suddenly aware of the silence. He looked over to Lupin, who was frowning.

"The train's slowing, but we can't be there yet. I think I know what this is – stay here."

The train stopped fully, and Lupin stood, pulling out his wand. Harry followed suit, glancing out the window.

"It looks like people are boarding the train …"

The man froze as if his fears for the stopped train had been confirmed. "Dementors," he whispered, taken aback, and exited the compartment into the hallway. Seeing the cloaked creatures board, he strode forward saying, "Black is not on the train. Leave." The Dementors continued, some looking into the compartments, antagonising the students, and Lupin cast some sort of spell that shot a silvery figure at the horrid creatures. It chased them off the train and the air suddenly regained its warmth. Lupin slammed the doors shut and locked them with a wave of his wand and peeked in each compartment to be sure the students were okay, slowly making his way back to the last compartment where he and Harry had resided.

Sighing at the thought of having to give up his recently-bought chocolate frogs to the shaken students, he slid open the door to find Harry sitting ramrod-straight staring blankly at the wall across from him.

Suddenly doubting whether he had truly gotten rid of the foul creatures completely before they could harm anyone, he made quick steps towards the boy. Fearing the worst, he shook the youth's bony, tense shoulders and called, "Harry!"

The boy blinked, before uttering, "Yes?"

Still not one hundred percent about how Harry was, he asked, "Are you alright?"

He blinked. "… I will be."

Remus Lupin decided to let the boy process his thoughts and memories – after all, Dementors caused a person to relive their worst memories, and he doubted that he would want someone to fuss over him while he was trying to make sense of it all. He rummaged through his bag, gave Harry a chocolate frog, and told him to eat it.

"I have to give these to the other students, and then I'll come straight back, okay? If you need me, just come looking."

Harry nodded. It would be best if he could figure this all out without the man stealing glances at him every few seconds.

He had felt cold, right down to where he could feel it freezing his blood. He hunched in on himself, his eyes half-lidded and his arms wrapped around his knees. It was seeping in through the window; the chills, the taunts, the _memories_.

And quite the memories; a young child being ignored in favour of his brother, who smiled at being the centre of attention; his supposed guardians merely sneering down at him when he asked for his non-existent birthday present; his brother bragging to him about being the better, _favoured_ brother – _the Chosen One_.

But one memory really stood out in his mind.

_(Flashback: Hogwarts Letters – July 1991)_

_"Harry, get the mail."_

_"Make Christopher get it."_

_Christopher only glared at Harry, and reluctantly the shorter twin got up and grumbled all the way to the door. He picked up the letters off the front mat and shuffled through them._

_There was an electricity bill, a water bill, a shopping mall flyer, an optometrist reminder, and two nearly identical letters on thick yellowing paper written in green ink._

_That was strange – why would he get a letter? He didn't have any friends at school. He never ordered anything. He didn't currently have any books out, so it wasn't a note from the library – and even if he did, it certainly didn't look like something from the local library. Was it a student insurance offer? He remembered his primary gave out those at the start of the year. Perhaps these were from an early-bird company? But why would Christopher have one of the same, if Dudley didn't have one? But again, the letters did not carry a logo for a company of that sort … he flipped the letter over and saw a strange coat of arms that had a lion, badger, eagle, and a snake embossed into a green circle of wax. The words _"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,"_ were written in fancy script underneath._

'Latin,' _he thought._ 'I wonder what it means.'

_"What are you doing in there, boy? Checking for letter bombs?" Even from down the hallway, he could hear uncle Vernon chuckle at his own joke._

_He stashed the two suspicious letters under his shirt. He didn't trust Christopher enough to keep quiet about the strange letter._

_Although the two letters poked at him with each movement, he managed not to alert any of the Dursleys or his twin all throughout breakfast. He excused himself to the bathroom before he had to start his chores to hide away the letters._

* * *

_The next day, Harry confronted his brother about their letters before he could escape for breakfast._

_"Hey, Chris?"_

_"What do you want?" the hazel-eyed boy glared, with sleep still clouding his eyes._

_"Yesterday, when I got the mail, there were these two letters. They were pretty sketchy – in weird ink and written in calligraphy and everything. They even had a wax seal!" Harry said, grateful that his brother hadn't just punched him in the gut and ran downstairs._

_"And why are you telling me this?" Christopher asked in a monotone though he really was intensely curious._

_"Well, one was addressed to you, and one to me. Last night, I opened mine and, well … I think it'd be easier to explain if you read yours first," he realized, darting over to his drawer and pulling out the strange envelopes. "I thought it might have been a prank from Dudley, but then I realized that he would have no idea where to get the stuff for this."_

_Chris messily and lazily ripped open his envelope, quickly making short work of the letter. His eyes bulged before suddenly hardening._

_"You don't actually believe this, do you?"_

_Harry fidgeted. He didn't know why his brother's opinion meant so much, but he felt as if he was selling a ridiculously-priced piece of garbage for a product, which the buyer never wanted in the first place._

_"I don't … I don't know. I mean, remember the teacher's hair? When it went blue when she told us we had a pop quiz? Remember the snow in summer? How real, how out-of-place it was? When it was thirty degrees outside but there it was; sitting on the ground waiting to be made into snowballs, not a single drop melting. By all means, it should not have been there … it should have turned into a puddle within five minutes. But it didn't._

_"And then there was the time when, after worrying about a test mark, somehow you got a hundred percent, even though you said before you nearly failed it? How do you explain that?"_

_"Someone could have put the snow there. It could have been more than just frozen water, so it didn't melt. It could have had chemicals in it, just like they have for road salt." Christopher interjected._

_"Someone just happened to put it in the backyard?"_

_The short-haired twin ignored him. "As for the test mark, someone could have easily swapped out the names on the sheets, but the teacher caught them."_

_"That still doesn't explain – "_

"Enough,_ Harry! Magic doesn't exist! Are you such a kid that you'll believe anything anyone tells you?" He huffed, throwing the letter onto the floor and storming out to grab himself breakfast._

_Hurt, but not really knowing what else to do, Harry hid the letters away underneath his mattress, far to the side closest to the wall, and quietly padded his way down the stairs._

_"- about _magic,_ of all things. And he believed it! As if magic were real!"_

_Christopher's voice echoed up the stairwell from where he was laughing about it to Dudley in the kitchen. Harry felt as if a knife had been stabbed through his heart._

_Shoes clicked on the floor. "What are you talking about, my Diddy-kins? What's so funny?" Aunt Petunia's voice cooed._

_"Harry and Christopher got some letters about a magic school, mum. And Harry actually believed it! What an _idiot!"_ Dudley's guffaws followed, with Christopher merely sniggering. Harry discovered that proverbial knives could twist._

_Aunt Petunia didn't seem to think it was funny. In fact, as Harry crept closer to the bottom stair, leaning around the wall, he could see that her normally pale face had gone even whiter in her anger. She quickly strode over to where Uncle Vernon was sat in the sitting room; Harry couldn't hear what she said, but Vernon's face, too, changed colour – he sported a greyish purple, with a great big vein throbbing on his forehead._

_Somehow locating Harry with barely a thought, he spat at Harry words that hurt the young boy's eardrums. "There is NO. SUCH. THING. AS. _MAGIC!"

_Harry recoiled, but it wasn't enough to stop Vernon from dragging him into the garage by his shirt collar and throwing him to the floor. One swift blow to his stomach stole his breath, and he couldn't call for help if he tried. He shifted his head in time to see the same foot re-connect with his body, this time aimed at his throat. It hit its bull's-eye, and Harry's mind went blank with panic._

_He continued to choke while other kicks hit him in the chest, legs, and the feeble defence his arms provided._

'Breathe, Harry. Breathe. You need the oxygen.'_ The only thing that Harry could focus on in his moment of horror was the constricted airway that refused to allow access. He slowed his breathing, trying in vain to fill his lungs._

_There was a brief pause before a hand grabbed his collar, his head lolling to the side, before hard knuckles smashed into his jaw. Nails scratched his cheek as words were hissed into his ear._

_"You listen here, boy," the fat man's mustache fluttered across his earlobe. "There is _no such thing as magic._ Got it? There's no – such – _thing_ – as – _magic!"

_Between each word of the last sentence, a punch was delivered to his body, knocking out whatever air Harry had been able to drag in. Then he was unceremoniously thrown to the ground to lay in wait for the next round of kicks._

_They didn't come. Instead, a clatter of wood cascaded over the floor before a shovel was swung at his face. He flinched, using his right arm to block the blade. It was a harder hit than anything else had been so far. The sharp edge rattled his bone and split the skin in a horrible gash. It didn't bleed a lot, but it was enough to stain his porcelain skin._

_The shovel was swung again but missed. It was thrown to the ground just like he had been, a sound of frustration escaping the man before a final kick knocked out what little air he had managed to inhale. He could hear the throaty noise of someone calling up spit before he heard a distinct _"Ptew"!_ Spittle landed in front of him. His Uncle's footsteps were loud and intimidating as they made their way to the garage door, a soundproof barrier that had stopped even Petunia's intruding demeanor from hearing his Uncle's kicks against his ribs, the punch across his jaw, his gasping breath._

_The door opened, the door closed. Silence, and then a car moving out of the driveway, screeching down the road away from where he lay._

_Struggling to breathe, Harry could only wait while his mental function returned, his adrenaline levels wore down, and his breathing – well, it didn't slow, nor did it become any easier, but it became manageable. He could feel the pain in sharp relief compared to whatever areas had been left scot-free. He was obviously winded, thanks to multiple kicks to his torso. Because of that, his breathing was labored and his throat was raw – especially where it, also, had been kicked, swollen and constricting. His head hurt in two places from where he had been thrown on the concrete, and he tried to move his arm to massage it out -_

_He hissed, realising that one of his Uncle's blows had done more damage than he originally had thought. He located the pain, determining that one or both of the bones in his right forearm were broken. He couldn't smell blood, nor was he sticking to the floor, which meant that the bone hadn't broken through the skin. Small mercies._

_He was sure that, if he looked in the mirror, his eyes would be glassy and unseeing. His hair stuck to his head with sweat, and his shoulders hunched in his broken state. He would look like he was at Death's door, he was sure of it._

_His left arm was heavily bruised, but otherwise fine to operate. His shoulder was stiff where it lay against the cold cement, and he rotated his arm around in jerky movements to reposition himself so that he could elevate his broken arm. He pushed himself towards the wall with his legs – bruised, a couple trickles of blood and the muscles spasmed with every movement, but essentially fine – and leaned against it. He slowly snuck his left arm in a cradle around his right and painfully brought it against his chest. He put some light pressure onto the broken section, which somehow brought some sort of comfort. Tired, and dizzy with his lack of oxygen as well as his injuries and blood loss, Harry's consciousness faded until he was hanging on by a thread. His wounded figure slumped to the side where he lay on his back._

_(End Flashback)_

Just as Harry's whirlwind of thoughts settled down, Lupin walked in the door. He realised that he hadn't yet bothered to eat the chocolate that Lupin had given him and he hastily bit off its head before the Professor noticed. He was pleasantly surprised at the warmth and comfort the small piece of chocolate could provide.

It was an awkward silence for the both of them as neither felt close enough to talk about anything. Harry refused to bring up the subject of his memories, but it wasn't as though Lupin could pretend that the encounter didn't happen and simply talk about the dreary weather.

Harry brought out one of his texts but found that he couldn't concentrate no matter how hard he tried. He sighed, snatching the robes that he had procured before the Dementors boarded and shoved them over his head. He also didn't bother hiding his magic this time, and simply floated his trunk onto the rack with a lazy wave and a whispered spell.

Harry studied the man across from him. Why _did_ he seem so familiar? He just couldn't place it. He supposed it was like the man said – Lupin had been friends with his parents so he must have met him as a baby. It explained why he knew so much, and it certainly explained the feeling that Harry got which made him want to lean against the man for comfort.

He shook himself. He had been independent for a long time, he wasn't about to change that.

Nearing the station, the train slowed and rolled to a long-awaited stop. Children of all ages stepped onto the ground before entering the carriages not too far away. The first-years gathered by Hagrid so that he could lead them over to the boats. The weather seemed to protest the student's arrival, and it tried to blow them off course as the upper years stepped up onto the carriages. The rain tried to wash all colour from Hogsmeade station, it was pouring so thick. Harry could only imagine how rowdy the Lake must be for the first-years; the entire thing was probably covered in angry whitecaps.

The ride up to the castle was slow and loud. The rain battered on all sides of the carriage and the thunder threatened their passage with every strike. The lightning seemed to light up the entire area for a split second before disappearing, plunging them back into dismal darkness once more. It was a draining cycle.

The carriage slowed and came to a full stop. Harry unlocked the door and let himself out. He didn't know where Professor Lupin was because he hadn't entered the carriage with him. But that was fine. He was probably just doing whatever teachers did right before the feast. Harry trudged up to the castle doors and entered the Great Hall with everyone else, every student leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

On a whim, Harry lagged behind and cast _Scourgify_ on the floor. Having Filch angry so soon wasn't something that anyone wanted. A female prefect saw what he was doing, and, contrary to Harry's prediction, joined him in cleaning. They kept up with the group, muttering _Scourgify_ every couple seconds or so.

Just as they were entering the great hall, last of the upper-year contingent, Professor Flitwick saw what they had done and chuckled with delight.

"Oh, well done! 5 points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter! Ms. Clearwater, excellent work! I see you are more than capable of holding that prefect badge! 5 points to Ravenclaw!" He then closed the doors and made his way to his seat to wait for the first years. Harry and the newly named, blushing with pride Ms. Clearwater followed suit.

They only had to wait a minute or two before McGonagall lead the miniature-looking scared first-years into the front of the hall. Some of them were looking up at the ceiling, a couple were peering over at others in their line, some studied the teachers, and many were looking at the older students seated at their to-be house tables. Harry noticed that they looked drenched. Harry frowned. Hadn't McGonagall thought to give them a drying charm? This was hardly a warm welcome – pun intended.

The hall started to quieten, and Harry realised that the Sorting Hat was already on the stool, readying itself for its song. Multiple verses were sung from the hat's off-putting voice before it quieted once again.

"When I call your name, you will step forward and I will place the hat on your head." She glared across the first-years' line in a _"behave yourselves!"_ kind of way. "Adams, Emily."

A thin, tall-for-her-age girl stumbled forward. She was wearing a muggle foot brace on her right foot and walked with two crutches under her arms.

_"Muggleborn._ _Must have broken it before coming to Hogwarts," _thought Harry. _"Wonder why she hasn't seen Pomfrey yet."_

She held the crutches to the side as she sat, and the Hat was placed on her dark-haired head, blocking her vision of the Hall.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted, and she steadily made her way over to the Ravenclaw table with a large grin on her face.

The Sorting continued, and for once, Harry couldn't wait for it to be over. In the past, he was interested in who was in each house. He normally played games with himself, trying to guess where the student would go based on their demeanor. It was a hard thing to guess, but satisfying when he got it right. But this year, he wasn't quite in the mood. He just wanted to seclude himself in his four-poster.

The Start-of-Term Feast appeared with a near-silent _pop_ and Harry quickly filled his plate with his favourites before digging in. He ate only a slice of some cheesecake as dessert before waiting for the rest to finish.

There were two new teachers this term. Professor Lupin, the man he'd met on the train, was to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post, while Rubeus Hagrid would step in to teach Care of Magical Creatures now that the newly-retired Professor Kettleburn wished to enjoy the use of his remaining limbs.

He barely listened to Dumbledore's speech, which warned them of staying close to the castle lest they get Kissed by the Dementors, and he waited with bated impatience for Dumbledore to release them to their sleeping quarters. When he did, he was one of the first out of the door into the entrance hall.

He quickly changed, brushed his teeth, checked his trunk to make sure all of his belongings were there, and drew the curtains around his bed. The others in his dorm, Seamus and Dean, entered but ignored him and talked about the Dementors entering the train and how Christopher had apparently frozen shock still like a board, staring unseeingly at the compartment wall across from him, before collapsing and tumbling under his table.

_"Couldn't even hold consciousness. And so I wonder why people still worship him,"_ thought the green-eyed teen.

When Weasley and Chris entered, Harry set his alarm and put silencing charms around his four-poster. He didn't want to hear or interact with his brother any more than he had to.

* * *

The next morning, Harry got up early. He was no exercise buff, but he felt that a couple stretches could go a long way. He stretched various muscles before changing and getting dressed. He styled his hair with some gel – something he had never bothered to do before, but quite liked the result of. When Harry entered his dorm room one last time before leaving for breakfast, he saw that Dean and Seamus were barely stirring while Weasley and Chris were both snoring softly. Sighing, he prodded both Seamus and Dean knowing that Chris and Weasley would only pull some stupid prank on them because it was the first day of class.

Stretching, Dean blinked up at the ceiling before turning his attention to Harry saying, "Thanks, mate. I can't be late for breakfast on the first day, can I?" He winked.

Harry simply smirked, agreeing, before striding out of the room with his full book bag in hand; he didn't know what class he had this morning and damned if he was going to walk on out there only to have to rush back to his dorm to grab his books.

Sitting down in the Great Hall, Harry scooped some eggs and bacon onto his plate. Professor McGonagall made her rounds and handed him his timetable. He scanned it and found that he had Arithmancy first. He finished eating and started to leave the Hall. At the doorway, he met Christopher and Weasley, who were obviously late and weren't in the best of moods. Walking past Harry, Chris shoved him with his shoulder against the doorframe.

"Watch it," Harry hissed but continued on his way. He'd have to find the Arithmancy classroom soon or he'd be late on his first day with a new teacher; he was no Slytherin, but first impressions were everything.

* * *

**AN:** Was not totally happy with the turnout of the flashback there (one of the main reasons for the lateness of this chapter), so you guys have to tell me if you thought it was good or if it seemed forced or what.

Anyways, next chapter we'll see some of what Arithmancy is all about (or at least my understanding of it). Speaking of which, if you guys have read any fanfics that have at least some description of the class, and if you either described it in a review or gave me the title/author that would be great, seeing as this new, completely-mostly-not canon territory is a little intimidating. I might even scrap most of the canon idea of Arithmancy if I can't figure anything out.

After a brief review of Harry's classes, things will (hopefully) jump forward to Halloween and then Christmas. I don't plan on having detailed day-to-day accounts because those get boring and frankly I'd run out of ideas real fast.

Once again, I ask for your reviews! I admit I love it when people ask me questions. They get the gears working, and sometimes, even help me smooth out the plot where I had plot holes before (whether I realised it or not). Oh, and if you guys need stuff to write about when reviewing, I always like to leave a prediction. It helps the reader get in tune with the story, and it helps the author realise exactly what the readers are picking up on and what they need to include yet (like interactions between certain characters – that's a biggie). Plus, it feels really good when you correctly deduce a future scene.

If I've somehow missed your review and didn't reply, please tell me. I always like getting feedback after leaving a review.

I'm not going to give a list of reviewers this chapter, as although none of you said anything (none of you say anything ...) I would probably be bothered if it was someone else's story that had it like that. Or maybe not, y'know, because I would review and be proud that my name was forever engraved in the print of the story! Umm, er, anyways - no real questions raised this last chapter by you reviewers, so no real answers here in my AN. That's how it works.

One lonely Guest review reply:_  
_**The Fat Creaton** (interesting name, by the way): I assure you, my grammar is (aside from typos) impeccable. I am most certainly not in the 11-13 age range, and I also break up paragraphs regularly, if you hadn't noticed – it's not one giant BLOCK of text; it is, in fact, multiple paragraphs with some dialogue mixed in. Though I thank you for your wishes of good luck.


End file.
